Being, Together
by Mayumi-H
Summary: Fifteen years after Raccoon City, Leon Kennedy still keeps people at a distance. That's about to change. *Post-RE6 *Semi-smuff [No beginning, no ending. Just a moment in time. For ALIASECHO.]


_**"Being, Together"**_  
by Mayumi-H, AKA Bonusparts

* * *

"I know what it's like to come home to an empty apartment. I hate it. And I hate knowing you go through the same thing. I know you won't always be here when I get back from a job. I won't always be here, either. But, for those times when we'll be here together...why can't we just _be_, here, _together_?"

He sighs, that too-blue gaze flicking away beneath an uneven fall of dirty-blond hair.

He won't look at me. Not because I'm wrong. Because I'm right.

"I know what you're thinking."

His gaze swings back, but he doesn't say anything.

"You won't let anyone in because you think, if something happens to you, if you don't come back, then you're letting them down. That's why you stay alone. That's why you push people away."

His cheek shallows under my fingertips, and he narrows his eyes at me. He still doesn't say anything.

"But cutting yourself off isn't the answer. I know you think it's safer, that way, but it's not! You're taking worse and worse risks every time you go on an assignment. And don't try telling me it's not true; I've read the reports."

The lines in his face – between his brows, around his mouth – soften, and he looks almost young again, that fresh-faced, wide-eyed rookie cop I've seen so many times when I dream.

"You're losing touch," I whisper, scooting closer on the sofa. His face feels warm against my palm. "I don't want to see that happen."

His lips part; he blinks, slowly, his eyes shimmering.

There's more truth there than I can bear, so I let my gaze stray to his collar instead, my hand going there the same.

"I know I'm not who you want me to be," I mutter; my finger catches on the folds of his shirt, right above the second button. It's easier to look there than his eyes. "I know I'm not..._her_. But, I...I care about you. I don't want you to be alone." Dropping my chin, I push my palm flat to his chest. "I don't want to be alone, any more, either."

The steady thump of his heart stops – just for a second. Then, it starts again, in quicker time, as his chest rises under my hand with a breath.

His hand circles around the back of my neck, fingers cool but clutching. The grip that pulls me close is gentle, but strong. His breath blows warm against my mouth as I look into his eyes again – so near, so clear, so blue and bright with trust and faith and (dare I hope?) desire – as he finally speaks, at last:

"Be with me."

And even just the firm, full press of his kiss is like making love, though we do that, too, there, on the sofa, while the Georgetown traffic idles obliviously outside the window.

It's the way I've always thought it would be, with him: tender, but flushed, his hard body seething under my hands. Then, he finds that steady measure for both of us, and it feels like so much more than just circumstance, or comfort, or even protection.

His hands squeeze me, and it's desire. His lips kiss me, and it's hope. His body sweats and shudders, and he comes on my belly, and it's care. And, after he wipes that away, he lies down next to me again, and works his fingers inside me until I can't contain all the feelings I've kept locked inside for so long, and I let go a cry that's more a whimper...and he puts his arms around me, and kisses me again, and it's love.

We're still lying there, under a light blanket, when the streetlamps flicker on. He hasn't said anything, though I know he hasn't slept; whenever I look up into his face, his eyes are open, staring out the window toward the world.

I look at him again. "Are you okay?"

He tilts his head toward me. "Yeah," he says. "You?"

"A little chilly."

He chuckles, and pulls our torsos together. "Better?" he asks, and, while his belly and chest are warm, they're nothing compared to the warmth in his smile.

It infects me, in a good way. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Thank _you,_" he says, and his smile suddenly fades.

"For what?"

"You were right. I had forgotten." His body shifts closer, as he pushes one knee between mine. "It's not about the job. It's about the people. The people you care about." And a sigh escapes him, just as he moves his thumb over my cheek, faintly, like I'm some little girl lost, an Alice trapped in a Wonderland of monsters.

I put my hand over his.

I might not be the woman he wants, but I'm not a little girl. Not any more. Not in his arms.

"I know you think you have to protect me-"

"Let's not worry about that, right now," he says, with a low, slow shake of his head. He looks into my eyes again then; that same honest, loving clarity from before is still there. It doesn't fade as he takes my face in both his hands, now, and bows his head close to mine, close enough to kiss.

"Let's just...be, together," he says, and this new kiss is so much like the first, yet not the same at all.

* * *

**Author's Note:**  
For ALIASECHO, who planted this seed in my head.

Resident Evil and all associated characters and likenesses belong to Capcom, Inc., and are used here without permission.


End file.
